343 Firefighters
by thebluecray0n
Summary: 343 Firefighters died on 9/11. My husband, Troy Bolton, was one of them. I often imagine what his day had been like, leading up to 8:46AM when the American Airlines flight hit the North Tower.
1. One Shot

**I'm a New Yorker. 9/11 means so much to me. Not everyone understands the impact this event has had on so many people. Especially people that don't live in New York. But it is important. We lived, we remember. We are one indivisible nation under God.**

* * *

343 Firefighters died on 9/11.

My husband, Troy Bolton, was one of them.

I often imagine what his day had been like, leading up to 8:46AM when the American Airlines flight hit the North Tower.

We woke up wrapped in each others arms that morning. After some loving kisses and whispered words, I pulled myself out of bed and went to wake our daughter. In my head, I see him lying in bed for a few ore sacred moments before he got up to shower.

I made breakfast, then called one of my girlfriends to confirm we were going to vote today. That's when my baby girl comes downstairs, dressed in her uniform and hungry for food. I hang up with her and focus on my child.

Troy comes down, dressed in his usual underclothes of his uniform. His pants with the overalls criss-crossing his navy blue clad chest. Our daughter smiles when she sees him, her toast now forgotten.

"Daddy!" She shrieks in joy.

"Morning sweetheart!" He picks her up in his arms and spins her around.

I lean against our counter and smile. Everything is perfect. The sun is shinning, there's a crisp breeze in the air.

Our cat, Trixie, quietly slinks into the kitchen. She ignores all three of us and heads for her food bowl. Troy grins, putting his adoring daughter down, "Finish eating."

He walks over to me, where I'm pouring him a mug of coffee. "Hello my lovely wife." He murmurs, against my ear, his arms now twining around my waist.

Breakfast is as it is every morning. The three of us sit together with Trixie, who enjoys the attention from Troy. Everyone loves Troy.

At seven thirty, Troy kisses both of us goodbye.

I grin, "Go save the world."

He smiles brightly, "See you tonight."

He turns his attention to the bundle of joy hugging his legs, "Have a good day at school, hun."

She smiles up at her father, "I love you, Daddy."

"I love you too." He kisses her head before looking at me again. "And I love _you_."

I kiss him again, "I love you. You're gonna be late."

He winks, and the door closes behind him.

Once the house is in order, my daughter and I leave. She holds my hand tightly as we walk a few blocks to school. She tells me about her dream she had last night.

I imagine Troy just arriving to work as I'm kissing her goodbye for the school day. I watch her walk away as I picture Troy walking into the firehouse. I watch her teacher greeting everyone for the day as I see Troy slapping hands with all the guys in greeting.

I meet my friend outside the post office and together we head to the public halls to vote. She tells me about her date last night. She thinks she found the one.

"Oh, I have to stop at the bakery." She remembers.

I nod. We make a minor detour, en-route to the bakery for fresh bread.

I imagine Troy lounging on a chair, reading the morning paper. He and one of the firefighters, Nate, usually switch between the sports section and the news section. I see the fire chief, Tyler, who was in charge of breakfast that day, bringing in burnt eggs.

It's such an easy scene to conjure up. I've seen it happen many times. The firefighters ripping on Tyler but stuffing a little of the food down just to make him feel better about his inability to cook.

We ride on the subway, crossing the Manhattan Bridge into the city on the Q train. It's 8:27AM. The sun is shining, there's no hint that something horrible is about to happen. In 19 minutes, lives will be lost.

2900 civilians died.

I imagine Troy and a few of his colleagues going into the gym at the firehouse, beginning a workout. I think of my daughter, her only problem in life that she can't figure out how to carry numbers properly. I think of my best friend, so happy over this guy. I think of Trixie, probably curled up happily on the couch, sound asleep.

I wonder if she sensed what we didn't.

When the two of us get out of the subway, the air isn't fresh. There's debris in the air. There are papers flying. We think nothing of it and walk a few blocks to the bakery. The baker is in a frenzy when we go inside, he and several other people staring at the tiny TV in his store.

The bell rings, signaling our entrance. He looks at us and says, "The Twin Towers have been hit!"

"What?" She asks, sounding confused, "What are you talking about?"

"A plane!" The baker says, his eyes wide, "Flew! It crashed into the Towers!"

My heart clenches. That can't be possible. We just saw the skyline twenty minutes ago! Everything was fine.

I imagine Troy. Punching the punching bag. Having a conversation with Nate about the baseball game on TV last night. And then I hear the alarm, plain as day, in my head. I imagine him looking up, confused for a moment, before he springs into action, along Nate.

He pulls on his pants, boots, and jacket. The alarm is blaring. "Twin Towers. Plane crash. Fire." He grabs his helmet and jumps onto the truck. Nate is next to him. His head is spinning, _the Twin Towers?_ Nothing makes much sense. The truck speeds down the streets, turning onto the Brooklyn Bridge, bringing everything into view.

Smoke. So much smoke.

The baker huddles us in front of him so we have view of what's happening. Every major news crew is down there. Nothing is clear. There are people running in all directions, screaming, crying. There are police officers, some evacuating people, others running straight into the flames.

There are fire trucks and ambulances.

I imagine Troy and his friends pulling up. I see him and Nate exchanging glances. They're ready, and they're going in together. He runs into the wreckage of the North Tower. I see his determination, his disgust at whoever did this. Nate is next to him. Nate is helping. It's hard to see and even harder to breath, even with the oxygen tank. There are bloody bodies at their feet.

She's holding onto me. My heart is pounding and I can't tear my eyes from the screen.

And then the screams grow louder and the camera focuses on the sky.

Another plane.

9:03.

The South Tower.

Hit. Crash. Burn. Collapse. Death.

I imagine the ground shaking and Troy realizing the second tower had been hit. And then I can't possibly imagine what was going through his mind. Me? Our daughter? Trixie? Nate? His parents? Everything? Or was all he cared about saving as many people as he could?

I wonder if he knew he was going to come out alive. I wonder why he chose to save Nate and not himself. Was it because he knew he wouldn't make it and needed someone to look after me and his child?

It's been nine years.

Nate and my daughter are each holding one of my hands. We're at Ground Zero, and the first moment of silence has just happened. Anytime now I'll have to go up on stage and read a list of names that didn't survive.

"...And for my husband, Firefighter Troy Alexander Bolton. Troy, we love you, and we miss you." I wanted to have something remarkable to say, but I couldn't think of anything that he already didn't know. So I stayed simple and reminded him of our unwavering love.

I wrap my arms around the small piece of Troy I have left. She squeezes me back, crying into my chest. "I miss Daddy." She whispers, making me gag on my tears. "I do too, sweetie."

343 Firefighters.

2900 Civilians.

23 Police officers.

27 Port Authority officers.

8:46AM First plane hits North Tower/Collapse of North Tower.

9:03AM Second plane hits South Tower.

9:59 Collapse of South Tower.

We will never forget.

September 11, 2001.


	2. A Special Note: 10 Years

Hello everyone.

I wanted to write a little note because every few months a review trickles in for this one shot and people share their own stories of 9/11 with me. And now that the 10 year anniversary is approaching, I really wanted to write something new, but I just don't have a plot and I can't bring myself to write something I won't be happy with just because it's been a decade.

It's so weird for me. Ten years ago I was starting first grade and now I'm beginning my junior year in high school. 6 to 16. 1 to 11. Ground Zero has changed drastically since then, from a deep, bottomless pit of darkness to something that is blossoming into a grand memorial.

But I always forget- it wasn't just New York that was hit. The people on Flight 93 crashed their plane in Pennsylvania to avoid anymore people getting killed. They foiled the plot and some of them got the chance to call home one last time. And the Pentagon was also hit. I think as a New Yorker I just remember the World Trade Center and I feel like _my city, my home, my playground_ was attacked and maimed in a way that can never truly heal.

Street poles were tattooed with 'Have You Seen This Person?' flyers. Debris from Manhattan made it all the way to our lawns in Brooklyn. Charred papers from the building. I remember sitting in my first grade classroom, paper hitting the window but not knowing why. Kids leaving early, while I spent the whole day wondering why suddenly all the adults looked so scared. My mom was crying. For days. One of my classmates almost lost his dad. My cousin worked _across the street_, in her own skyscraper. My upstairs neighbor _worked in the actual building_. My grandparents in the Philippines and family in Italy were scared, calling, asking if we were okay.

And I watched it all on TV when I got home at two in the afternoon. Watched a building, my cousin visiting from Spain three weeks before had wanted to go to the top of and his mom said she'd take him the next time they came to New York, collapse like nothing. Two buildings so iconic, so part of the skyline it felt like they had always been there.

When I found out that the Empire State Building used to be the tallest building in New York, I was _angry_ at the Twin Towers for taking that honor away from the Empire State Building. The joys of being six.

So I wanted to share this with you. Thank you all for reading, both this and the original one shot. I really hope none of you forget what has been the biggest terror attack in American history. It brought us into a war we're still fighting. And it isn't just America vs Iraq or anything like that. It is a global war, because terrorism exists in all places.

There is no justification for 9/11 or any other terror attack. And hopefully, one day, we can live in a world where this stuff doesn't happen.

Quickly, Meg Cabot wrote something very beautiful about 9/11 so I'm going to link it here (and obviously remove the spaces): http:/ www . megcabot . com /2011/ 09/ ten-years/

We Will Never Forget.


End file.
